One Man's Notes on Movies and Other Life Obsessions by Chuck Wilson

April 24, 2016

Her name is Barbra, and today—April 24th—is her birthday. And, yes, of course, we’re talking here about singer-actress-director Barbra Streisand (“like sand on the beach,” as she's often told interviewers), but you know that already. Everyone is aware of Streisand—even those who claim not to like her. (Man, are they missing out.)

Once, she was just another “Barbara”. In his loving 1997 memoir, “My Life with Barbra,” Barry Dennen, who met a Brooklyn girl named ‘Barbara’ Streisand when she was 17, recalls the night in June 1960 when she won a career-launching singing contest at the Greenwich Village gay bar, The Lion. Afterwards, at a coffee shop, the future greatest star took a napkin from the table and printed out: B-A-R-B-R-A. As it was written, so it became.

The rest is history: A string of successful club dates (thanks to the gay boys at The Lion). A record deal. A classic TV duet with Judy. Her own TV specials. Emmys. Grammys. Funny Girl, on Broadway, and on screen. An Oscar. A wildly successful movie and recording career (she owned the 1970s). That moment when her gloved hand brushed back Robert Redford’s hair. “See ya, Hubbell.” A Star Is Born. Another Oscar. The Neil Diamond duet. Yentl (star, writer, director). The Prince of Tides (star, director). And when she was 58, a great love (with James Brolin), and a happy marriage: hope for all us late bloomers.

My friend Joe Daquino called the Yentl soundtrack, “the Sgt. Pepper of Adult Contemporary Pop.” Such a great line and so true. It’s a genius record. Joe died this past December after a heroic fight against brain cancer, and in those last days, in hospice, when he was half-aware, but terribly agitated, I’d play him Barbra songs. And he’d calm down, instantly. Barbra’s voice soothed him. I think she did for him what she does for me, whenever I need her to: she took Joe to that soul-deep place where he was still himself. It was a blessing, and a gift and I’ll owe her forever.

Joe loved Yentl (1983), and the two Broadway albums (’85 & ’93), but he’d only drop in on the 2000s work. He had his Barbra; he was good. Conversely, my Barbra begins with “The Way We Were” studio album (I was 12), and I’m still listening, still watching. Today’s Barbra speaks to me, but I know fans who yearn for some other version—eccentric ‘60s Barbra, or soaring, sexy ‘70s Barbra. I try. I play them killer tracks from “The Movie Album” (2003) or “Love Is the Answer” (2009), but. . . they don’t quite listen. They’re holding tight to their Barbra.

And yet, on the eve of her third act, Barbra hasn’t really changed. She’s still herself. Much happier, which is grand, but at 74, Barbra Joan Streisand remains the crazy talented, wildly ambitious girl who wrote her new name on a coffee shop napkin. That’s grand, too.

Joe and I loved this moment: In a 1993 TV interview, when Streisand made a joke about her pupik—Yiddish for “belly-button”— Barbara Walters said, “You sound like the old Barbra.” Without missing a beat, Streisand replied, “I am the old Barbra. And I’m the new Barbra. I’m all the Barbras.”

April 12, 2016

Hardcore Henry screened as a midnight movie at last September’s Toronto Film Festival, and was so ecstatically received that a distributor bidding war ensued. Six months later, the film hit theaters nationwide and fell flat, thanks to intensely negative reviews from critics upset by its unceasing violence. It didn’t help that audiences took to social media to express confusion over the nutty plotline and even nuttier tilt-a-wheel camera work. Headaches and nausea were reported, and box-office receipts suffered.

This all must baffle Ilya Naishuller, a Russian whose Moscow-based, English language debut feature is an extension of two wickedly clever music videos he directed for his band, Biting Elbows. (His clip for “Bad Motherfucker” is essential viewing.) Like those YouTube sensations, Hardcore Henry was shot by attaching a GoPro camera to a stuntman’s headgear—his visual perspective becomes our perspective, from the opening frame to the last. If Henry falls face first to the ground, we see the ground rushing up, just as he does. Throw in a bad guy army who send Henry on a foot/motorcycle/helicopter chase wild enough to wear down Mad Max, and you have movie with everything it needs save one crucial element: emotion.

At the start, Henry wakes from a coma to find he’s been turned into a cyborg—part man, part machine, with no memory , no voice, and a missing leg and arm. Luckily, the beauty across the room is not only Henry’s wife, Estelle (Haley Bennett), but a genius. In a flash, she’s outfitted her man with bionic appendages, which immediately grow skin (and tattoos). Before they can fit him out with a voice chip, the lab is attacked by masked gunmen (a cyborg army) led by Askan (Danila Kozlovsky), who aims to conquer the world, of course. Since he has telekinetic powers of awesome might, it’s not completely clear why Askan needs an army.

Things happen. Estelle and Henry escape but Askan’s mercenaries quickly capture Estelle and take her away. Trying to save his wife, Henry has the first of umpteen gun fights, which typically result in the bad guys aiming wildly, while Henry lands kill shots that make his target’s head explode. Blood is forever spurting into Henry’s face, and into his eyes, which, don't forget, are our eyes too. The wise will experience Hardcore Henry from the back row of the movie theater—away from the whirly-twirly camera work and the blood spray.

Henry is given a ride by Jimmy (Sharlto Copley), who is shot dead right after showing Henry how to recharge his robotic battery pack. Minutes later, Jimmy’s back, but this time he’s a boisterous bum on a bus with more key advice for Henry. A hulking silver cyborg with a flamethrower takes out that particular Jimmy, but fear not, the Jimmys keep coming. Copley expertly delineates each, but his gleeful energy never makes up for the fact that this film is built around a non-man we can’t see or truly know, much less care about for 90 minutes.

In the end, there is indeed one true Jimmy, and there is a reason Askan wants to nab Henry and his wife, but it might take a few whiskey shots before I could explain it all coherently. I saw Hardcore Henry twice in three days (long story) and both times, people walked out early, but those who stayed kept giggling, which suggests two things: the film critic in me needs to lighten up, and Hardcore Henry is going to end up where it began—as a beloved midnight movie. (Chuck Wilson)